Saving Fire
by HauntedSilver
Summary: When the hospital burns down, Mr. Gold finds himself with the odd oppurtunity for a second chance, and is determined to ensure that this delctae flame does not burn out.
1. Chapter 1

Saving Fire

_ At 7:05 this morning, The Storybrooke Hospital caught fire. The patients were safely rushed out by doctors, nurses and volunteers with minimal injuries. Thousands of dollars of equipment was lost, but there were no casualties..._

They keys on Sidney's keyboard clacked viciously, his fingers flying to get out the basics of this morning's fire. He'd scrounge for details later, and the cause of the fire, but right now the town needed the news. In a matter of hours the story would be everywhere, until not a single soul in this town had not heard of the...tragedy.

Sidney finished up the story, adding how the nuns needed people to volunteer to keep a patient in their home, until they could be relocated. He smiled grimly as it was handed off to the editing and printing team, everyone in a great hurry to get the thing published.

"I didn't know we had a mental hospital." Mary Margret whispered to Emma as she eyed the patients needing a home. Mr. Gold chuckled as he passed, not surprised at all to see the elementary school teacher there.

"Yeah, well, every town has its crazies." Emma told her, glancing at the line of mental patients, tied together like animals. Though Mr. Gold hadn't heard of a mental hospital either, he wasn't surprised. It was, after all, just another of Regina's ploys to destroy everyone's happiness but her own.

And his. Because he'd ruined that all on his own.

"Mr. Gold! Wait!"

Imploringly, he turned to see one of the nuns waving for his attention, looking like she already regretted it. "Mr. Gold, I know that you are busy and all..." This was part of why he despised nuns so much. They felt as if they all had to get into his business, thought they were Helping him. "But if you would please consider offering a temporary home for one of these poor people." Only humouring her, he turned to study the line of patients in their flimsy blue gowns. Just as he was about to hobble away, his eyes caught on something that made his heart stop.

"I'll take her." Mr. Gold's voice trembled slightly on the last word, but his face remained as impassive always. The nun spun to see who he was pointing to, a brunette girl with haunted eyes.

"Um...all right." She made it pretty obvious that volunteers weren't supposed to chose who they housed, but surely she would put that aside for all the care he could provide. After all, he owned the town.

The nun running the stand hurried to untie his new guest. "Sign here and here," She told him breathlessly. "The doctors will send you any records salvaged from the fire."

"Thank you." Suppressing a grin, he took his new guest by the arm, the same way he had over 28 years ago. Only this time she trembled against him, whereas in the other world she'd strived so hard to stand tall.

Mr. Gold crossed the square, feeling the eyes of the residents of Storybrooke on them. But he didn't glance back.

"You're awfully quiet," He quipped as he released her arm to take out his keys, leaning heavily on his cane. She only looked at him blankly, but Mr. Gold's emotions were running too high for him to be unnerved by her empty stare.

"Welcome to your new home," He announced, delicately placing a guiding hand on her back. It was hard to believe she was here in his arms. After all his mistakes, he could have her back. Maybe Regina's curse hadn't been such a curse after all.

Belle-no, that wasn't her name here. He couldn't afford to think like that yet, when it was still so likely that she really was mentally damaged.

His guest studied his home as they walked, taking note of his trinkets. This time there would be no dungeon for her. Never again.

Mr. Gold lead the not-Belle upstairs, struggling as he always did with his ridiculous cane. Since it was still reasonable that she could do something...damaging, he made sure she was in the room right next to his.

"If you'd like," Mr. Gold began as she sat despondently on the bed. "I can go out tomorrow and get you something to wear." He waited, scrutinizing her. Just as he got up to go she took his hand. The not-Belle finally met his gaze. He chocked on whatever it was he was going to say next. She looked so much like the Belle he used to know, with her unshakable eyes. This not-Belle wasn't as courageous, not the type to hunt for secrets to kill the beast. And yet he still wanted her in his arms. He still wanted those lips he'd only kissed once before he lost her forever.

He was jarred back to reality as the not-Belle released his hand slowly, his fingertips dancing with her warmth. She was still looking at him, lips slightly parted. The way she stared made her think she knew him. Or at least had some recollection of her time with Rumpelstiltskin, of the dark castle and closed curtains.

"I'll let you sleep now," Mr. Gold whispered, regretting every hobbled step to his room.

As Rumpelstiltskin, nightmares had never bothered him. Once he became the Dark One, they had all but vanished. Before his magics, yes, he'd had nightmares. Mostly though, they were about losing Bae. But he'd done such a fine job of that on his own that no dream could make it worse.

Mr. Gold had been so accustomed to his lack of nightly torment, that the dream had caught him completely by surprise. The moment he woke up he'd forgotten most of it, but it included Belle and not-Belle, evil queens and the colour indigo.

To distract himself until the remains of the nightmare faded, he checked on not-Belle -who was curled in a tight ball and mumbling about talking teapots- and busied himself in the kitchen. Feeling oddly chipper, Mr. Gold poured himself a cup of coffee and started making eggs. He was sure his ecstasy had something to do with his guest upstairs and his second chance, but pushed it aside.

Eventually the not-Belle padded down the stairs, nearly as unsteady as him without his cane. She was still dressed in that flimsy hospital gown, and her hair hung in her face in a tangled mess. The not-Belle didn't muster the energy to push it aside, lingering at the base of the stairwell.

"Would you like some breakfast?" He offered, forcing himself to stop gawking and start acting like a real host. Not-Belle hadn't yet mustered the courage to speak, so he patiently lead her to a chair and placed a plate of breakfast before her. Not-Belle stared at it distrustfully.

"After you eat that I'm going to go out and find you something to wear, Belle." Mr. Gold only caught himself after he'd uttered the word. Not-Belle was listening to him, he could tell. "But you have to finish those eggs before we do anything." His voice had gone soft as he watched her glance helplessly at her breakfast.

Like feeding a newborn, Mr. Gold carefully offered forkfuls of food to her mouth.

"I've been thinking you need a name." She stared at a spot above his head as if she saw something there. "How does Isabelle sound?" Mr. Gold found subtly could solve anything, and even the hint of her true name could jog her memory.

Not-Belle's eyes connected with his. "Okay," It was more of a sigh than a word, but it was the first thing she'd said to him.

"Alright then, Isabelle." She clearly was not ready to go outside -and he really wouldn't risk anything this time-but he couldn't leave her here alone, among sharp kitchen utensils. "Do you mind going back to your room until I return?"

Isabelle settled back into her usual silence as he guided her back to her bedroom. He had many qualms against locking the door, not wanting her trapped again, but eventually deciding it was safest.

When Mr. Gold returned, she was slumped against her door. She fell against his shins as he unlocked it. Her face was streaked with tears and her hands were an angry red, he assumed, from slamming them against the door. He was about to...apologize, perhaps, for locking her in there; but before he could do anything, Belle leapt to her feet and hugged him so fiercely he was certain she remembered him. But then why did she not let go? He'd thrown her out more callously than a butcher tossed out bad meat.

"Belle..." Mr. Gold mumbled, bringing his hands up to hug her back, to stroke her hair, when she pulled away.

He could see the pain in her eyes, the accusations. 'You left. You locked it.' But rather than voice these aloud she said "Don't ever do that again." Her voice was still quieter than the Belle he knew, and she spoke only in a whisper.

"I won't." The words tumbled from Mr. Gold's lips before he could stop them. Well, that was ridiculous. What would happen the next time he had to get something? But instead of taking the words back he repeated them. "I won't."

They stood there for a long moment. Mr. Gold felt himself slipping, losing himself to the familiar eyes. He felt himself leaning in, gazing into ponds of blue before he stopped himself.

"Here," His hand extended the bag of clothes towards her. "Pick something you like." Before he could do something dangerous again, Mr. Gold hobbled down the stairs. Someone had left mail at his from door, and he could tell it was meant to be urgent by the large scrawl. Inside was nothing but an abrupt message explaining that gradually taking Belle -Isabelle, he corrected- outside was part of progressive therapy. Well, fine. When she was ready he could take her to his shop.

He turned to find Isabelle standing on the staircase, watching him. She'd changed into a yellow dress, one he almost hadn't bought, and her hair was hanging in her face like always. His fingers jerked a little, longing for the hairstyle his Belle wore: the front strands pinned back and the rest of her curls falling down. But Mr. Gold didn't know how to replicate it.

"Let's do something about that hair, shall we?" He suggested, stepping towards her. Not-Belle flinched away slightly, studying him with pondering eyes once more.

"What's your name?"

Rumpelstiltskin. "Mr. Gold," He offered her a smile. "Now for your hair dearie, would you like it up or down?"

But Isabelle had closed herself into a box once more, and didn't say anything else.

"Well let's at least get it out of your face." Mr. Gold said, more to himself. He limped back up the stairs to fetch the bag of clothes, extracting a hairbrush, headband, and a number of elastics. Isabelle seemed to be trapped in her own mind as he carefully smoothed out her knots and pushed the hairband atop her pretty brown head. "Now isn't that better?"

She just met his eyes with her torturous blue gaze. It was much harder having her here than he would have expected, especially in this fragile state. Now, rather than give in to his desires, he had to be a caretaker first. He couldn't risk losing her again.

"Let's go outside shall we? Onto the deck?" Mr. Gold stuck out his elbow once more, and she clung to his free arm like she feared he would evaporate. The same thought lurked in the back of his mind, although it involved Regina and clergies. So he sat them down on the deck chairs and served her lemonade, and said nothing at all for the rest of the day.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I just realized that the title could be about Baelfire. Weird...**

-

"Do you want to go out today, Isabelle?" He almost slips up and says 'Belle' again. Mr. Gold finds he has to be even more careful in this world than the last. Because here she doesn't really know him, and a slip-up means she really is gone forever.

"Okay," She's getting a bit more talkative. But still, the most she musters is a whisper, and only looks at him half the time. Not-Belle (he really needs to stop calling her that in his head) only uses clipped sentences, like she's afraid she'll give away some sort of secret.

"We could go to my shop," He suggests. Isabelle seems rather alright with that. Then she shuffles upstairs to have a shower, because she can't seem to remember the last time she had one. When she returns, she's wearing a green dress, and her hair is lose and sopping wet.

"I can go out and get a hair drier, if you'd like." Mr. Gold suggests, plucking up a comb for her tangled hair.

"No." She says. It isn't much louder than her usual statements, but Isabelle's voice is so firm he thinks she's coming back to her complete sanity -because by now he's sure she's at least mentally unhinged.

He goes back to detangling her hair, risking glances at her dress. It's a perfect emerald green, but the style is so much like his Belle's it hurts a little to look at. The brown trim is there, and the white puffed sleeves. He resisted buying it because it looked so much like Belle's, but in the end he couldn't help it. Mr. Gold had hoped she wouldn't wear it. But she did.

"There," He declares. Now that her hair is clean and drying, it's almost reverted back to his Belle's old curls. "Now let's get that hair out of you face, dear." Mr. Gold's fingers betrayed the tiniest tremor as he reached for her brown curls.

Isabelle flinched away, reminding him all too much that this was not Belle and he was not quite Rumpelstiltskin.

"Why?" Her fingers curled and she gave him that cautious look that was not quite right in Belle's eyes.

He smiled, twisting a lock of her hair between his fingers absently. "Oh." Mr. Gold felt his tone turn almost scolding with that word. "You have a beautiful face, dearie. Why try to hide it?" He flicked one of the chestnut curls and stood to get his shop keys. Over the years of frozen time he had adjusted to not being able to conjure Rumplestiltskin's laugh and voice quirks. But now he felt terribly burdened without it.

Mr. Gold glanced at Belle. She'd tied her hair back after all. He brought his Belle to mind and decided there was some sort of carefully styled knot pulling her hair back. Isabelle had done something else with it, brought the strands back in little braids maybe.

Then Isabelle gets to her feet, teetering slightly, and grips his arm. Mr. Gold has found that this is their usual way of walking, her leaning on him and him on his cane.

Isabelle sat herself behind an empty birdcage in the back the moment they entered the shop. It was one of the odd items he didn't remember gaining, like the tiny carousal, or the glass mobile with the little unicorns he was certain came from the palace of Snow White and Prince Charming.

Mr. Gold situated himself at the counter, just starting to organize his files when the bell over the door dinged.

"Mr. Gold!" Ah yes, Emma Swan had decided to pay him a visit.

"Miss Swan, how lovely. To what do I owe this occasion?" He hardly glanced up from his files.

Her eyes were bright with anger. "You burned down the hospital." She pointed an accusing finger at him.

"And what motive have you devised for me this time?" Mr. Gold inquired. "I don't have time to deal with you today," He almost laughed at the double meaning to that statement. "I have a guest."

Emma's anger slammed to a halt, like she'd hit a glass door. The Sheriff's eyes darted around until she found Belle-Isabelle, he found himself correcting yet again- sitting quietly behind the bird cage.

Miss Swan's eyes swept to shock as she placed the face she must have seen yesterday, and the haunted look Isabelle carried about her.

"They're letting you keep a mental patient in your house?" Emma hissed. "After you nearly beat a man to death!"

"A man that did not press charges. It would seem that I am perfectly capable of housing her. Now if you'll please leave, you're scaring my guest." And Isabelle did indeed look terrified. Whether or not she heard that part about Moe French, Isabelle was giving Emma that half-terrified half-curious look that meant she was about to bolt.

"Fine." Emma said, tipping her chin upward resolutely. "But if I find out you're mistreating her in any way..." She left that sentence hanging, assuring that her Sheriff's badge glinted in the dim light of his shop.

"Which you won't." He muttered with a grim smile as the bell chimed again. Bell. Mr. Gold scowled, almost certain Regina had taken that little precaution when the curse designed his shop to remind him. Bell. Belle. Bell. Belle.

There were no more customers that day, which was fine with him. He had acquired the odd habit of always having more wealth than he needed, and it was a habit he found he couldn't break. Rumplestiltskin had it too.  
_  
"You've spun straw into more gold than you could ever spend." _

Yes, Rumplestiltskin had it too.

* * *

**A/N: I'm not really happy with the ending, but I wanted to put **_**something**_** up, what with all the things I need to update. Anyway, I'd just like to say thank you to everyone who reviewed! I hate ****to beg, but they are very appreciated :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm sorry. I really don't know what happened with the last chapter. I tried reposting it to get rid of the bold (which is the explanation of any of you getting updates), but...yeah. Thanks again to everyone who reviewed! You probably hear this a lot, but it really does mean a lot, haha. Just tell me if I get too annoying ;).**

Oh, and to answer Sheherazade's Fable, Emma assumed Mr. Gold burned down the hospital because of the whole burning-of-town-hall in Desperate Souls.

Anyway...

Enjoy!

-•-

Mr. Gold guides Isabelle back to his house again. They'd left quite early to get to his shop, and it had been foggy, so hardly anyone was about. But now the townspeople milled around, shooting Isabelle odd looks. It was almost as if, even with her hair and without her hospital gown, they could tell she was a mental patient. Like they saw her as some sort of disease, even though they were holding mental patients in their own homes.

"Ignore them," Mr. Gold instructed under his breath as Isabelle crumpled under their stares. He could have shot out a few choice glares, but that would only arise suspicion. He couldn't let on more caring than he had previously shown. It was far too much already.

They shambled back into his home, Isabelle collapsing in relief, free from their ogling eyes. Mr. Gold felt himself smiling a little at this. She wasn't his Belle, yet didn't mind her company. As Isabelle wandered off somewhere, he found someone had delivered a package to his door. It was in the same loopy script as the note from the hospital. He didn't bother with the contents until he read the words scrawled inside. They looked like dosages, but...

Mr. Gold reached for one of the containers the package had been holding, his hands trembling with rage. They had her medicated. They'd medicated his Belle.

He turned and hurled the container at the wall with all his strength. It didn't break, as he had hoped, but bounced off and clattered to the ground. Three other tubes of pills were rolling at his feet, and Mr. Gold threw those too.

"Mr. Gold?" Isabelle's frail voice called from the stairs. It was the first time she'd said his name.

He closed his eyes, calming his fury.

"What-what are you doing?" Her voice grew higher and quieter at the same time. Isabelle sounded almost as if she was scared for_ his_ mental instability. Or perhaps she was just scared of him. Perhaps she'd heard the bit about Moe French after all.

"Nothing." He glanced at his watch. "I think I'll be getting to bed now." Mr. Gold leaned a little more heavily on his cane as he eyed the treacherous stairs.

She watched him go, saying nothing. Standing at the foot of the stairs with a haunted stare, the way she always seemed to. Just as Mr. Gold was about to shut his bedroom door behind him, her voice pulled him back.

"Tell me a story," Isabelle whispered.

He turned, gradually, to find her now halfway up the steps. In the dark her eyes didn't seem so blue anymore. They only looked dark and inquisitive. The eyes of a girl who'd seen to much, who battled with demons and sometimes won, who learned to laugh at the jokes of a devil.

"A story?" Belle loved stories, he was sure. After all, he'd used it to barter her return. The return he did not expect, but couldn't help the happiness swelling through him.

"Yes."

Mr. Gold studied her. "About what?"

Isabelle frowned subtly, closing the distance between them. Her hair had come completely lose. "I see spinning wheels sometimes. And water. Lots and lots of water. Tell me about them."

Spinning wheels. "I'm not a very good storyteller." He informed her, the teasing edge to his voice again. Isabelle was two steps away. She was looking at the ceiling, her eyes following images he couldn't see.

"Please?" Isabelle prompted, stepping into her room. She curled up under her blankets without changing out of her dress.

Her pleading expression got him, really. It looked far too much like Belle's that it deluded the straight thinking he'd been maintaining all day. The clarity between Isabelle and Belle evaporated, leaving him only with a girl that was somewhere in-between.

"Fine." Mr. Gold scowled at her, to prove how troublesome this was to him. "Once upon a time there was a naiad-do you know what those are?" Isabelle's expression was hard to read. "Of course not," He breathed. "A naiad is from Greek mythology. It's like a mermaid."

_"I have a deal to discuss. A certain mermaid..." _

Isabelle nodded, awaiting more.

"And she found a spinning wheel in a little bay, off the coast of a land that no longer exists." Isabelle was staring at him expectantly. Well, what was he supposed to do? He didn't know how to invent stories. The naiad part had been a little strange, he had to admit. "The spinning wheel could turn seaweed to silver, and straw into gold. It spun sand into pearls and made jewels out of molten rock. And the naiad was fine with all that. But the naiad was lonely. And what she really wanted was some music."

Belle's blue eyes. They were like oceans to drown in.

"And then?" Belle-no, no it was Isabelle. Isabelle the mental patient. Isabelle the timid.

"Um..." Well, what was his favourite way to solve problems? "So the naiad went through every piece of the spinning wheel. She took it apart and put it back together two thousand times. She'd tried playing with shells and weaving seaweed, but never before had she found music. So the naiad took the spinning wheel apart again. But this time she took two of the pieces out and replaced them with pearls. And when she spun again it played the most beautiful music she had ever heard."

"Yes?"

Mr. Gold gazed at Belle, abashed. "Well, that's it!"

"But you said she was lonely. Didn't the music bring her any friends?" Belle-ISABELLE- was giving him a poignant childish look. Then again, what adult asked for a bedtime story?

"No." He said, getting up with the aid of his cane. "That's it."

Isabelle's brows knit together and her face fell into a frown. "But what about her happy ending? No prince? No friends? Just some music and a spinning wheel?" She'd become very talkative. "That's ridiculous."

"It's not ridiculous." Mr. Gold informed her somberly. "It's just realistic." Then he left her, distraught, in a pile of blankets and a dress that didn't quite belong to her.


	4. Chapter 4

Mr. Gold is not accustomed to screaming.

He's not really accustomed to having people in his house either. He's really not accustomed to being jolted awake by terrified shrieks.

So, yes, when he woke up, Mr. Gold was in a bewilderment. Then he put the pieces together.

"Isabelle?" He scrambled out of bed, missing his cane in the dark. Somehow he made it to her room without it, but his leg was likely beyond easy repair.

Mr. Gold leaned heavily on the door as he thrust it open, staggering into Belle's room. She was sitting up in bed, staring at something he couldn't see, shaking and wailing.

"B- Isabelle? What's wrong?" He limps towards her, half sitting and half collapsing onto her bed.

"Pills," Isabelle mumbles, her blue eyes gaping at him like empty tunnels. "Pills." Then she starts screeching again, cowering as if she's being struck.

"Isabelle-"

"Pills!" She ducks under get covers. "Pills, pills, pills!" He's suddenly sure she wants the medication downstairs, the ones he tried to destroy. Mr. Gold is certain those are no good for her, certain this is some kind of ploy to make her mentally unstable. But he can't just sit here and listen to her scream. It only puts images of Belle-his Belle- laying in a tower with clerics and flayers.

But his Belle would be too strong to scream, he tries to convince himself as he stumbles down the stairs. Anyone would give up after a while, though. No one could withstand that every day for even a week.

With trembling fingertips, he scoops them up, failing to fit all four containers in one hand. He's partially glad he doesn't have his cane so he can carry them all. But it only makes it harder to walk.

As an afterthought, Mr. Gold snatches the paper of the dosages as he half-crawls back to his shrieking Belle.

She's tucked herself into a ball on her pillow when he returns, whimpering now, rocking back and forth. Her eyes are pale with terror. His Belle could never look so scared.

Mr. Gold trips onto the bed next to her, fumbling to put the jars in her hands. But Isabelle can't hold them. She's to busy shaking and staring. Staring at some nightmare he has no hope of seeing.

He struggles to open the jars himself, but his hands are wobbling a little, too. Finally Mr. Hold wrenches one open, peering at the list of dosages in the dark. Two...three? Rumplestiltskin had impeccable night vision. A perk of being the Dark One, he supposed. Even the peasant could see well at night. But Mr. Gold's was only as good as the average human, the one that waited several minutes for their eyes to adjust.

Mr. Gold did not have several minutes.

"Olanzapine..." He struggled to read the words. "Two...five? No, no three." Mr. Gold muttered like a mad man, squinting and unscrewing with little success. "Two. Olanzapine, two." He scrambled for the name. Zyprexa. That was the brand name. Why couldn't it simply have said Olanzapine? He scooped two from the container. "Oh. I should get you some water. One moment..." Mr. Gold's eyes scoured the room for his cane.

"No!" Belle snarled, launching herself at him. Mr. Gold flinched, something he hadn't done once in Storybrooke. No, no. This was Isabelle. She was not lunging for him but the pills in his hand, which she swallowed without water. Isabelle calmed a little, it seemed. Like less of the visions were haunting her.

"More." Isabelle's voice shook as hard as her body.

"R-right." Mr. Gold consulted his sheet once more. "Um...quetiaplane. No, quetiapine. Doasage...s-seven." That seemed like too much. He wouldn't give it to her. How could they put his Belle on medication?

His Belle.

No. This was Isabelle the mental patient. Isabelle who needed these pills.

When he didn't offer them to her, Isabelle ripped the container from his hands, yellow pills scattering like cockroaches. She gulped these down too, and all he could do was sit and stare at her in bafflement. His Belle would not do this. His Belle was strong. She was brave, and clever. She knew just the right strings to pull to make the beast fall for her.

"Birds!" She shrieked. Mr. Gold followed her line of vision to find empty space, one of her many hallucinations. Her empty eyes turned to him with more focus than he'd seen all night. "Make it stop." Her voice was commanding, but hollow. "Turn off the music."

Mr. Gold's heart wrenched. Not-Belle or not, he couldn't watch someone with her face be in this pain. "Okay," He opened his arms to her, waiting for the nostalgic feeling of Belle against him. But instead she snatched up the other two packages of pills, mumbling to herself.

"No more music." Be-Isabelle ducked as if something had flown right over her head. "No more music!" She wrenched the container open savagely, tossing four pills of what he supposed was the risperidone in her mouth.

"Belle," He could hear his voice breaking along with his heart. "Belle-"

"No!" She caterwauled. Then she tried to open the final medication with fingers that shook so hard he couldn't see them.

"Belle." Mr. Gold dropped his hand onto her wrist, gripping her until she released the pills. But her eyes were filled with a hatred that cut him to the core. "Belle." He tried to form words, but the only thing his tongue wanted to say was her name. Her _real_ name. Not a half-hearted attempt at a reminder. "Belle."

"NO!" She bellowed. But the eyes were enough to stop him. The pain they produced inside him was far worse than what the medication could do. So solemnly he handed the last bottle of pills to her. Belle swallowed three without a sound; and the hatred and fury leaked out of her, replaced by something that was almost calm. But she was still trembling, and her blue eyes had a terribly haunted look that didn't belong.

"Belle." The name didn't taste so sweet anymore, but it hurt not to say it. "Belle." Gingerly, hesitantly, he reached out and stroked her hair. Belle accepted his embrace now, and curled up in his arms. She was sobbing, silently, but it watched him. Fighting the submission and cowardice inside him, he tightened his grip and stroked her back. He wouldn't let go this time.

She shook all night.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:This update is long overdue. And the longest I've written. But, you know, I only got one review last chapter ;) But I'll save my OUAT rant 'till later (as in, the bottom) and get on with the story!  
**

"Mr. Gold?"

That's Belle's voice. Who is Mr. Gold, though? Rumplestiltskin squirms, still partly asleep. His arms are curled protectively around something —Belle?— and his head is sunk into a warm pillow.

Lazily, he opens one eye. Belle is laying —in his arms!— staring at him with her ocean-like gaze. He smiles, brushing some curls from her neck and letting his fingers linger there. Then reality catches up to him. Why would Belle be with him here —she's dead, because he sent her away. Or wait, she isn't, but his curse is enacted now. He's in the other world, without his powers. And he still hasn't found Bae. But he has found this girl. This girl with Belle's face and her smile, but not her spirit or her memories.

"Mr. Gold?" Her lips tremble. He remembers last night, with the pills. Belle —no, no; he's named her Isabelle here— looks plenty less haunted, but he can't shake off the memory of her screams.

"I-I'm sorry," She doesn't know what he's really apologizing for.

Isabelle says nothing else, and he knows the recovery she had been showing is gone now. Vanished last night. She lays there almost despondently, waiting for him to get up, Mr. Gold assumes.

"I-I have some chores I must attend to." Not many, really. But Mr. Gold needs to get these pills checked out, to see if she really needs them. To see if they cause sone sort of addiction that makes her crave them, that makes her fall apart. Or if Regina has poisoned them somehow so that Belle has these hallucinations.

Isabelle says nothing, like when he first found her.

Mr. Gold should lock her in here, to protect her. But he'd promised —foolishly— that he wouldn't. And he can't give her run of the house, where there's knives and glass and big things to throw. Then an absurd idea falls upon him so fast he snaps his fingers in delight.

"Would you...would you mind if I took you to a friend's house for a while? No harm will come to you. You can trust her." Isabelle is wary. He doesn't even know if she trusts him yet.

Rather than a whispered 'okay', she nods, but remains tangled in her blankets. He misses the Belle from last night already. The one that begged him for a story and told him it was too sad.

"I-I'm going to change." Mr. Gold imagines she would stay in that same dress. She doesn't look stable enough to change herself.

He showers and get dressed, skips breakfast and returns to her room. Sure enough, Isabelle is still sitting there. He offers her his arm, which seems to calm her. But she still doesn't speak as he locks the door of the house behind them and leads her across the town.

Mr. Gold finds it surprising that they always open the door to him. They hate him, and they know perfectly well who's at the door, but they never pretend they're not home.

"What do you want?" Emma demanded. She'd only opened the door slightly, so he couldn't simply walk in. And she couldn't see his silent companion.

Mr. Gold glanced around her inquisitively. Mary Margaret was peering at the scene from the living room. It looked like she was grading papers. "I have a few chores I need to do today. I was wondering if you could keep an eye on something for me." He paused, glad he'd had the insight not to say 'I need a favour'. The last thing Emma needed was a reminder. He wasn't ready to spend it yet. "May I come in?"

Emma still glared at him suspiciously, but some curiosity must have won out because the door creaked open wider. "What is it?"

Mr. Gold meandered over to the table. "Actually I was hoping Mary Margaret would help me. This isn't exactly the kind of thing you're equipped for Miss Swan."

The comment obviously wounded the Sheriff's fragile pride because she crossed her arms defensively. "Why not?"

Belle was still in the hallway. "Isabelle, you can come in now dear." She creeps towards him, eying the ex-royals as if they're going to flay her. Emma's eyes flare with recognition.

Finally Isabelle reaches him. She doesn't seem to like physical contact, yet she immediately snatches his arm like it's a lifeline. He wants to comfort her, to stroke her hair. To some degree she is still Belle, and it makes her protection of the utmost importance to him. But he has to restrain himself. Anything done wrong means she gets taken away.

He has to drag his eyes away from Belle, away from her pale skin and her delicate curls. Curls that he carefully twisted back on the way over. He still can't replicate Belle's old style. "Mary Margaret, would you mind?"

"You want her to watch your mental patient?" Emma's practically screaming. She's staring at Isabelle like she's a bottle of poison in a child's hands. It makes him want to punch her.

"Yes, well," Mr. Gold says through gritted teeth. "Isabelle isn't comfortable around other people. And my chores involve cavorting with large masses of people. For Isabelle's...safety, and comfort, I'd prefer it if she could spend the day with you." Emma peers deep into his eyes with a suspicious look; examining him to see if he's lying, no doubt. Mr. Gold isn't very concerned. Her skills have been incredibly lax lately. Even if he wasn't as formidable a liar as he was, she probably wouldn't be able to tell. Henry seemed to be clouding her judgement.

"Mary Margaret?" Emma finally asks. "Would you be okay with that?" It's obvious she's pleading for Snow White to say no.

"Sure. I'm just grading papers today." Mary Margaret offers her roommate a thin smile, then glances at Belle. Her fingers dig into his arm.

"Thank you, Mary Margaret." He says. Mr. Gold strokes Belle's arm before he goes. "It's okay. You can trust her," He whispers. Emma's the one Mr. Gold wouldn't trust. "I'll be back before you know it. I promise." He needs to stop making promises with her. They're far too easy to break.

He goes then, with a nod to Mary Margaret and a blank glance in Emma's direction. Luckily, the pharmacy isn't too far away. But the infernal ex-dwarf is working there —Sneezy or something of the like. He stalks towards the counter.

"I need you to check these out for me." Mr. Gold dumps the pills on the countertop. Four containers. Olanzapine, quetiapine, risperidone, and the other one —aripiprazole— roll towards the pharmacist.

Hesitantly, the ex-dwarf turns them in his hands. "These are all medication for Schizophrenia." He says. "It's a complex mental disorder involving hallucinations and the inability to tell real from not real. A patient with this wouldn't be able to think logically or use normal emotional responses or normal reactions to social environments." That all sounded like Isabelle. But she'd been so much more like Belle last night, before the hallucinations hit.

"Okay." Mr. Gold says blankly. There's something about this hesitant man that makes him unsure. "Do...do these medications cause addiction? Do they have side effects? If someone didn't need them could they provide hallucinations?" Mr. Gold hates asking so many questions. There are much more reliable ways to find answers."

"Nope." The pharmacist responds, sneezing.

"But I need you to check the pills themselves. See if they're tainted. Perhaps they've been switched for something else? Something that would cause hallucinations?"

The ex-dwarf looks at him suspiciously. "If you know someone who's behaving this way, you should take them to a therapist, or a physician." He sounds like Emma, prattling on about her obstructed justice.

"Just check them." He growls.

The pharmacy will be open for quite a while. He can check on the pills later. Mr. Gold has plenty of rent to collect. Ever since he got Belle back he's become very lax about it. And he hasn't been searching very hard for Bae lately, either.

People get lazy when you don't collect their rent. They think they're immortal, that the rules don't apply to them. That they can get away with anything.

He does his usual rounds. The nunnery, Granny's, the apartment complex where Jiminny Cricket lives. Mr. Gold, granted, collects a little early for some places. They don't argue of course, because he could kick them out faster than they could say "I don't have enough today." Really, he's only paranoid that he might not have time to do it again next month, or week in some places. And he knows better than to leave Belle with Emma and Snow White again.

"The pills haven't been tampered with." The sneezing pharmacist tells him when he returns.

"Well, have you checked all of them?" Mr. Gold suggests, but his casual tone still sounds demanding.

"Look, sir." The ex-dwarf knows his name. Even those in Storybrooke who've never actually met him know his name. "The pills haven't been switched. This medication has no side effects. I've checked—"

"Fine," Mr. Gold restrains from snarling at this man. He doesn't have the same fortifications as in the old world. He doesn't have the laugh to hide behind; and if someone were to stab him, Mr. Gold is sure he would die.

He can't take any more of this sniveling, babbling man. He just wants to take Belle and go home.

The door swings open when he knocks. Mary Margaret is seated at the table with Belle and some little girl —her patient, he assumes. But the surprising thing is they seem to be playing a card game, and Isabelle is actually paying attention. Or at least a little attention. She's also nibbling on a chocolate chip cookie, and when she hears the door open she looks at him, and her eyes almost look as though she's smiling.

"Oh, Mr. Gold," Mary Margaret smiles. A little tensely, but at least she tries. "Hello."

Belle doesn't seem to concerned about leaving. But then again she's not one to greet anymore, and this counterpart of her would stay rooted to the chair for her protection.

"How was she?" Mr. Gold asks. His throat is clogging, and his voice sounds to fragile and emotional for his liking.

"Oh, Isabelle was great! Kelsey and I made cookies," Mary Margaret ruffled the little girl's hair. "And Isabelle passed us the flour. She's more of a watcher than a helper, I think. Then we put them in the oven and Kelsey wanted to play speed. Isabelle even joined a couple rounds. And we've just dug into the cookies. You like the chocolate chip ones, don't you, Isabelle?" Mary Margaret must babble when she's nervous. He can't take listening much longer, but he's glad Belle did well. Or at least better than last night, when she was screaming. And at least as good as the first day.

"Uh...Thank you." He hates owing someone. That's why many of his deals involve the opposite. "Ready to go now...Isabelle?" He almost calls her Belle again. In front of Snow White and Emma, who will surely get suspicious.

Belle is quiet the whole way home. Most of Storybrooke's population is still out and about, but they give him a wide berth. Sometimes being the town loan shark has its advantages.

"Why do you call me Belle?" She asks the moment they step inside. Belle sounds so much like herself that he almost says 'Well, that's your name!'

"I..."

"If you wanted to call me Belle so badly, why did you decide to name me Isabelle?"

"Um..." It's hard to come up with a response that won't make her scared, hateful, or more confused. But she's talking again, which makes his his heart and lungs soar. He's finding it a little hard to breathe.

They stand in a silence that can't seen to break. Finally Isabelle says "Just...just call me Belle, okay? Please." Mr. Gold can tell that she knows there's something behind that name. But she doesn't ask. Even though she knows the name may belong to someone else.

"As you wish." He breathes. It brings a sense of relief, that he won't have to concentrate so hard on calling her Isabelle, that he won't have to try so hard to separate them. But he can feel the lines between his Belle and the one who stands before him blurring.

Belle nods, but it makes her seem more confused than certain. She stands there for a long moment, staring. Her eyes are resting on him, but Mr. Gold gets the sense she's not seeing him at all.

Then she turns and goes onto the back porch where she spent the second day.

And he's left wondering if she remembers.

•••

**A/N: So Emilie DeRevin was rumoured to return in Apple Red As Blood. At the part where Regina's trying to deal with Gold, I was like "Okay, she's going to offer him Belle." And she didn't. (By the way, anyone else figure out that Rumple/Gold wants the curse to break so he can leave and go 'traveling' to find Bae?) And then at the end Henry eats the apple turnover thing. So now Regina will go back to Gold when she finds out, and beg him to bring Henry back. THEN she will offer him Belle —I scoured websites and Emilie will definitely be in the finale! I'm not as concerned with what else happens. But Belle! And Gold/Rumplestiltskin will finally have her back!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: The finale = Larcosemptimi. Larcosemptimi, by the way, means '[noun] is too awesome awesome for words and the amount of love towards [noun] is indescribable' You're welcome, by the way, for this addition to your vocabulary.**

So...this is basically a totally wrong account of Rumbelle's reunion (I'm kind of surprised the writers didn't make Belle crazy, but what happened in the finale was too Larcosemptimi to want that to change) But I'll keep writing this anyway :D

-*- -*- -*-

Mr. Gold is still not used to her.

Then again, it's been less than a week. It's hard to keep hold of time when she's around.

He wakes up and is about to get something to eat before heading to his shop, when he sees her standing in his doorway. And for a moment, he forgets all over again (which Mr. Gold has been doing far too often lately). Then he's faced with all the memories and feelings rushing back at once.

It's a terribly annoying cycle.

"Belle," He breathes. "Something you want?"

She stands there silently for so long he's afraid she's gone off the deep end again. Then she shakes her head. "I just...I wondered if you could do my hair." Funny how he always ends up with this task. But Mr. Gold likes her curls back. It reminds him of when she really was his Belle.

"A-alright. You might want a brush." She scuttles to his side and drops her comb in his hand. Mr. Gold examines it for a moment as she crawls onto the mattress in front of him. He's so overwhelmed by her presence that the smell of orchids on her is all he can know. Belle —his Belle— smelled different. But the flowery scent intoxicates him all the same.

He wonders how the real Belle would feel about that. About how he might fall for this imitation. He wants to believe he'd only love her because she's in Belle's body. But the lines between them are always blurring, until one day he won't be able to tell them apart anymore.

"Finished, Belle." He says, more for the excuse to say her name than anything. He loves the way it tastes on his tongue, even when he knows he can't have her. But now there's a chance, and Mr. Gold has to take it. Every moment with her though, illuminates a 'Proceed With Caution' sign. He has to be more cautious and controlled than ever, because he's treading on the broken glass of Regina's mirror, and his own broken heart.

She turns, tries to force a smile. She doesn't succeed. "Thank you." The words are still nectar to him.

"No matter." He says, an automatic response. One he longs to take back.

Instead, Mr. Gold clears his throat. "Shall we go back to the shop today?"

Belle looks at him hesitantly, as if she's not sure what to say. As if she wants to come up with an answer that will please him, but can't find the right words. Finally, Belle simply nods. It's become too common a response.

He flicks her hair. Despite his brushing, it has reverted back to the matted waves she had when he first found her. "Belle."

"Yes?" Her eyes will always get the better of him.

"In...the hospital...you...they didn't let you shower, did they?" It's his responsibility now too look after her hygiene. He doesn't really want to be asking this, but she has to eventually be able to take care of herself.

"N-no..." A blush has started on her cheeks. He doesn't remember his Belle ever blushing.

"Before we go...or tonight, I suppose...it might not be a bad idea." Mr. Gold wants to cringe. He's not used to dealing with things this...personal and he doesn't want to insult her.

"I don't...I don't smell do I?" Belle wrinkles her nose. This change in context is much more comfortable for him.

"You smell like a bed of roses, Belle. No need to worry. But other people in Stprybrooke...well, they're a lot less forgiving. They just cannot accept you smelling better than them. We'll have to drown it out with plain soap and unscented shampoo."

She laughed then, and he couldn't help but smile. That was the first laugh he'd heard from her since he found her in this world.

"When we come back, then." She said, then paused. "What kind of roses?"

"What do you mean?" Red ones, Belle. Magical. Made from the body of your ex-fiancé.

"What colour? Did you know they all mean something different?" She's studying him as if that's not a well-known fact.

'Does it matter?' most people would say. But he can't. He loves her. "Red," His voice is hoarse. "Or yellow. Maybe Lavender, if you'd like it." Red means love. Lavender signifies enchantment. Yellow means 'Remember me'.

Belle doesn't say anything else. She must know what red means. Everyone does.

Mr. Gold clears his throat again. "We should...we should go now." Belle stares up at him, almost in disappointment. Almost as if she expected him to kiss her.

That's ridiculous of course. That's pushing wishful thinking so far you think it's reality. He can't afford to think like that. She's his patient, she's his guest, she's the girl he's trying to save. The girl he loves. The girl who —just like nearly everyone in this town— can't remember.

They go to his shop again, but instead of sitting behind the birdcage, Belle stands with him behind the counter.

"Is this what you do all day?" She whispers. "I mean, before you found me. Stand behind counters and wait?" He meets her blue gaze and sees all the unanswered questions hanging on her tongue.

"No, usually I polish. I collect rent. I threaten people. Standing behind counters is only a hobby." She snickers at that. Mr. Gold almost wishes he didn't mention the threatening, but if she can fall in love with a beast than she should be able to stand it.

Belle looks at him for a long time. He knows she wants to ask about him finding her. And about why he chose her of all the patients. Belle always picked the strangest questions, but they always gave her the answer she was looking for. Only the timing wasn't right. She would not ask him that today.

"Here." Mr. Gold has hardly noticed that she slipped from behind the counter, grabbed a vase, and returned. "Polish this. It's looking dusty."

He smiles impishly. "Are you criticizing my shop?"

"Yes." Is all she says, staring at him again. He finds he doesn't mind anymore, that he's grown used to it, and it has become less and less unsettling. "Polish it."

Mr. Gold complies and she watches his fingers as he scrubs the vase with a rag. They go on like that for hours; her grabbing things, him polishing, and her putting them back: all in companionable silence. Eventually, someone enters the shop, his little reminder jingling as the door opens.

Rather exasperatedly, he drops the metal rose Belle just handed him and looks up.

"Mr. Herman...how can I help you?" He smiles. Mr. Gold has a large wonderful arsenal of smiles. This grin is sharklike, calculating and dangerous. It's not the time to be using this particular grin on this new customer, but he's rather annoyed with Sean for breaking this moment with Belle. If it cab really be called a moment.

"Ashley and I are getting married." Sean says, unable to keep the flicker of happiness from his eyes. Oh yes, Ashley Boyd. And their wonderful little baby that has managed to escape him. Sometimes favors are worth more. "I want to get her something...special." Sean tosses his hands in the air helplessly, admiring Mr. Gold's well-stoked, bizarre little shop. "This is the perfect place."

"Anything in particular you're looking for?" Mr. Gold inquires, shooting off a cold smile.

"Who is this?" Belle whispers, glancing at Sean over his shoulder.

"No, I think I'll just..." Sean's eyes catch on Belle, cowering behind him. The ex-prince looks at Belle like he's trying to remember where he's seen her.

Probably in the town square, with at least half a dozen other mental patients.

"Hello." Sean says, and then his gaze flicks back to Mr. Gold. "I didn't know you had employees."

"I don't." Mr. Gold says coldly. Protectiveness is coursing through him. His voice is like a hand clamping on someone's wrist, squeezing until they drop whatever they are holding.

"O-oh." Sean hesitates, but turns away. Mr. Gold has always, always preferred to keep his affairs private and vague. It makes him more threatening, more mysterious, and seemingly more dangerous.

Sean idles by a china tea set. A lot of the objects in Gold's shop have no particular order to most eyes. He puts antique brooms next to otherworldly clocks and strange glass dragons. A ruby necklace is left next to a candelabra with no candles and an oddly shaped vase. But he keeps all the bells together. And most of the clocks are in one half of the room.

Mr. Gold turns back to Belle, who is staring stiffly at Sean as he traces his fingers on a glass swan (yes, Hopper, that's very funny). She's hunched slightly over the counter, poised, like a cat about to pounce.

His hand wavers over her back. Right now he wants nothing more than to let it fall and trace comforting patterns on her shoulder blades. But Sean looks up. And he wouldn't be able to do it anyway. Host and caretaker first. There's no room for her to love him.

"See anything you like?"

Sean's brow creases. "This, I think." He says, holding up a delicate horse made of emeralds. Mr. Gold doesn't know where that one came from. The items from his tower were transported to his house, mostly, and the objects the fairy tale characters couldn't keep were brought here. "Ashley loves horses." Sean smiles at the green creature's jewel face.

"It's quite expensive. You must really care for the woman." Mr. Gold tries to force the usual grim smirk for whenever love is brought up, but instead only manages a grimace. It's strange having Belle right beside him. He can feel the warmth swirling around in her body; her tensed shoulders and her white knuckled fingers, clenched to the counter's edge.

Sean smiles softly, placing the expensive emerald horse by the cash register. "I do." Mr. Gold is not sure how this man's guard can be so low around the most fearsome man in town.

He can't find anything else to say, and instead tucks the cash in the cash register, wraps the emerald beast with the flowing mane, and hands it back to Sean. Belle's blue eyes watch him the whole time. She doesn't shoot Sean a single cautious glance.

The horse watches too. He can feel the stone eyes on him through the paper bag that bangs against Sean's leg as he exits.

Even the door's bell can not drown out the horse's smug glare.


End file.
